The Demigod's Legacy

by Holley Trent

  “Willa’s gonna drive us back to my car, and then we’re going to figure out where your family went—probably to your mother’s. Then I guess we need to have a talk with Cruz.”

  “Cruz … ”

  “Yeah. Cruz.”

  “And the Coyotes?” Willa asked with a hopeful smile.

  December shook her head at Tito and pulled him toward the trail. “Your demigod problem is gonna have to wait until I fix mine.”

  When they were out of earshot of Willa, December stopped him, took his hands in hers, and squeezed them hard. “I’m not running, Tito. I’m not going to be chased away by anything, including you.”

  “Dee … ” he whispered.

  “You’d said you’d give me anything. Did you lie?”

  “No. I meant what I said.”

  “So give me you.”

  “And what about the shit that comes with me?” He gestured toward the desert, toward Nec and beyond. “You want that?”

  “Nobody would want it, but I can handle it. I’m willing to for us.” Eyes wet, she squeezed his hands again and whispered, “Please.”

  He was scared as hell, but her eyes were wide open and she knew what she was getting. She knew who she was getting. He nodded and opened. He let her into him, clumsily, perhaps. He didn’t have his mother’s psychic control, but Dee was his mate and he was only giving up what was meant to be hers anyway.

  Her eyes were wide and glassy, and cheeks flushed with what might have been terror as the magic in him left his core and lanced through hers, binding them into one thing with two independent parts.

  “There you are,” she said softly, rubbing her chest. “I feel like I’m standing in the same place you are. Like I’m … inside of you.”

  “Yeah.” He pulled her close, wrapped his arms around her, and kissed the top of her head. “You’ve got a little extra mojo now so you can keep up with me.”

  “This is it, then? This is … the start of forever?”

  “Well, we’re damn sure gonna try for it. Sorry if the ride’s bumpy. I come with a little drama.”

  “Yeah,” she sighed. “I noticed.”

  chapter TWENTY-ONE

  Tito being unable to take off work after the showdown in the desert had probably been a good thing, in December’s opinion … and bad in some ways. While it had given cooler heads a chance to prevail, it’d also given certain parties enough time to scrape together funds for plane tickets from Rhode Island.

  Mama sat on Mrs. Perez’s sofa, sipping iced tea through a straw and clutching Cruz at her side in a death grip.

  Cruz was watching the drama play out with all the interest of a chronic gambler watching a horse race.

  Mrs. Perez, across from her, was in her baseline La Bella Dama form. Apparently, she didn’t have the energy yet after pushing magic into her brother to morph into her old lady body. Cruz, as certain local weirdoes had speculated, didn’t seem fazed at all by her youthful appearance. She was still “Grandma,” which seemed to unsettle her mortal counterpart a bit.

  “So, once again, just to be clear … ” Aunt Dottie started. She’d never been the kind of lady who could tolerate long silences. “December’s child’s father has a mother who’s some kind of ancient goddess?”

  “Yes,” Tito said.

  “Okay. That’s what I thought was happening. And so, that means Cruz is … ”

  “Not normal.”

  “And so … ”

  “It’s complicated, Aunt Dottie,” December said.

  “And any other children you have …? ” Mama asked.

  “Mommy said I was enough,” Cruz said.

  December pinched the bridge of her nose and closed her eyes.

  Thanks a lot, kid.

  Cruz hadn’t seemed especially flabbergasted at all about being told she wasn’t quite human. Apparently, she’d had at least a bit of self-awareness. She knew she was special in the same way people knew they were sentient. “I’m like grandma,” she’d said to Tito.

  Tito had cringed.

  December had asked, “What does that mean?”

  Cruz had shrugged and skipped away.

  “Predicting what gifts a child like Cruz will have when they mature is impossible,” Mrs. Perez said quietly, “though I imagine Cruz wouldn’t be so unique if there were others. Tito’s legacy was meant to be fruitful. I wouldn’t have taken a human lover if I’d intended otherwise.”

  Mama cleared her throat.

  December refused to open her eyes. She didn’t want to have a baby-making conversation with her mother in front of a group of people, and especially not Cruz.

  “I’m hungry,” Cruz said.

  “Yeah, I bet you are,” Tito said. “Want tacos?”

  “From where?”

  “I think Tiny’s got the taco truck nearby. He tweeted earlier that they’d be in the neighborhood.”

  “Can I get what I want?”

  “Within reason. I’m a demigod living on a deputy’s salary. Cut your daddy some slack. I don’t get paid for another week.”

  Cruz wriggled out from under Mama’s arm and extended a hand to him.

  Instead of taking it, he slung her up onto his hip and beat a hasty retreat toward the door.

  “You just gonna leave me here?” December called after him.

  “Yep.”

  “Coward.”

  “I gave you a chance to run, Dee. You haven’t taken it yet.”

  She sighed.

  She’d catch up to him later. She kind of wanted tacos, too, since they’d gone and brought them up. Immortality apparently came with added hunger. She didn’t know yet if it’d come with corresponding weight gain.

  The Shadow padded past the salon door on the arm of Hannah, who was vociferously scolding him for something-or-other—probably being out of bed again.

  She stopped in the doorway and glared at them. “Y’all can’t tell when he’s up?”

  “You’re the one with the psychic connection to him,” Mrs. Perez said.

  “Maybe you should tie a bell around his neck or something. I’m on my lunch break right now. I left the hospital for a Tiny taco basket, and I saw him wincing down the sidewalk.”

  Aunt Dottie gave December’s arm a nudge, and whispered, “Who’s that?”

  “No, Aunt Dottie.”

  “He’s handsome.”

  “He’s ancient and mourning his son.” And newly mortal, by all signs. Aunt Dottie had a good chance of breaking the man, and December didn’t want that to be her lasting contribution to her new clan.

  “Oh, come on,” Aunt Dottie wheedled. “I deserve nice stuff. And I’ll make him feel better. I’m good at comforting.”

  “You know what?” December put up her hands. “That’s between you and him. I’m staying out of this.”

  “Good. Respect your elders.”

  “Where were you trying to go, Shadow?” Mrs. Perez called toward the foyer.

  “Nowhere,” he said on a curious delay. “Just looking. A man should know where he is.”

  “I’ll show you where you are, doll,” Aunt Dottie said.

  Mama closed her eyes and pressed her teacup against her forehead, muttering about manners and wondering why she ever bothered.

  “You have to admit things are never boring when Dottie’s around,” Daddy said flatly.

  “Yes, if the past ten years are any indication. I’d actually like for things to be boring for just a little while.”

  “I wish for the same,” Mrs. Perez said. “I’d like to have fewer unpredictable elements in my life.”

  Tarik scoffed, then vanished.

  Mrs. Perez rolled her eyes and muttered something about vainglorious angels.

  Aunt Dottie had wandered down the hall, likely on the heels of a certain nurse and a former god. December gave Mrs. Perez, Mama, and Daddy some half-baked excuse about needing to remind Tito not to give Cruz foods with red dye and rushed out the front door, tittering at her lie.

  The threads of her life were
coming together in gloriously unexpected ways, and she’d never been happier. Maybe she had never thought she’d deserve it.

  When she caught up to Tito and Cruz, they were in the middle of the line of about twenty, and December cut in, giving her apologies to the Coyote behind him.

  The Coyote cringed and put a little more space between himself and Tito.

  “Hey. He’s cool,” December said.

  The Coyote rocked back on his heels and whistled to the heavens. “Not worried about him. Worried about the kid. Don’t like how she looks at me.”

  “Cruz, be nice.”

  “I didn’t do anything,” Cruz said.

  “Yes, but sometimes you can’t help but to look like you’re up to something.”

  “She gets that from Ma,” Tito muttered.

  They moved a little more up the line. Cruz squinted at the menu. Tito squinted down at December.

  “What?”

  “You left your folks to Ma’s tender handling?”

  December shrugged. “I think they’ll get along fine. It’ll take the three of them to keep Aunt Dottie on the straight and narrow. I think she fancies a love match with your uncle.”

  Tito snorted. “Wouldn’t that be a hoot?”

  “What do you think the likelihood is?”

  “I dunno. I’m not sure he has a type. He’d probably be flattered. She’s a pretty lady.”

  “Think so?”

  “Yeah. Of course, not as pretty as you.”

  “Ew,” Cruz said.

  “What do you mean, ew? You look like your ma. You don’t want me to think you’re pretty?”

  “I’m confused.”

  “Stay out of adult conversations, then,” December said. “And just so you know, having your father say nice things to your mother is a good thing. Makes Mommy happy.”

  “She’ll learn,” Tito said. He squeezed December’s hand and smiled at her in a way that definitely hinted at things that weren’t decent for public viewing.

  “Behave,” she spat.

  Cheeks burning, December slipped her arm around Tito’s waist and beneath Cruz’s leg and moved a little more forward in the line.

  “Hi, Mikey,” Cruz said, waving hard and apparently unbalancing Tito a bit. He had to widen his stance.

  December looked around, but didn’t see Mikey. “Where is he?”

  “Talking to Tarik near the truck window.”

  Tito sighed.

  “They cutting line?” December asked. “I thought Tarik didn’t have an appetite.”

  “I dunno.”

  “Probably,” Tito muttered. “Sounds like something Tarik would do, just to get a better view of the crowd.”

  “What’s going on with him and your mother, anyway?” December whispered after Tito had leaned down at her insistence.

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Oh, don’t give me that. Something’s happening between the two of them, and I don’t think they’re just two supernatural friends bonded by their mutual fondness of spilled blood.”

  Tito’s lip twitched. He furrowed his brow and straightened up.

  He didn’t say anything until he’d gotten to the window and put Cruz’s taco order and his.

  December put in hers.

  They sat on the curb, waiting for their number to be called.

  Cruz danced around on a bit of grass nearby, chasing butterflies.

  Tito’s stare was a thousand yards away.

  December leaned over, kissed his cheek, and put her head on his shoulder. “Maybe them being more than friends wouldn’t be so bad.”

  “Catastrophic was the word I was thinking.”

  “You said it yourself. He did her a huge favor. He’s why she’s still what she was and not mortal like your uncle. He didn’t have to interfere and push that magic back into her, and now that he has an apparent allegiance, he’s got more enemies than before.”

  Tito ground his teeth. “I still owe him a favor. I get the feeling he’s going to call me on it soon.”

  “Everything will be all right. We’ll figure something out.”

  “I love your optimism, Dee. Probably why I love you so much.”

  She grinned harder than the Cheshire cat, and felt almost as silly. As if she could really give counsel about a fallen angel making bedroom eyes at a scary ancient goddess. She shrugged.

  Hell. Why not?

  “Love you, too. And optimism’s the only superpower I’ve got,” she said.

  Tiny called their numbers.

  “Might as well make the most of it, right?”

  Before she could start exercising any of that optimism, they both turned at the sound of fingers snapping behind them.

  Tamatsu hooked up an eyebrow at Tito.

  Tito groaned. “Aw, man. I forgot and I lost that paper. What’s the number?”

  Tamatsu rolled his eyes and dug into his pocket.

  “What’s going on?” December asked.

  “I was supposed to make a call for him. I forgot.”

  December took out her phone, handed her taco basket to Tito to hold, and took the number from Tamatsu. She dialed it in, carefully checked the digits, and then hit “Call.”

  “Noelle Flint!” came the cheery voice.

  “Um, hi, Noelle. My name is December Farmer. I’m calling for a friend named Tamatsu. He—”

  The woman’s shriek could have shattered the glass on the space needle all the way from the ground floor.

  December held the phone away from her ear, but not far enough away to hear the nasty growl that followed.

  What kind of she-beast is this?

  “I hoped that two-timing rat bastard would have been smote by now,” she hissed. Her voice had gone an octave lower than it’d been when she answered. “Or was it three-timing?”

  Tito turned on his heel and whisked Cruz out of earshot.

  Tamatsu rolled his eyes.

  “You tell that taciturn, navel-licking asshole that if he wants his voice back, he knows what he has to do. Good day to you, miss.”

  She hung up.

  December put her hands on her lips and gave the angel her “Come clean” stare.

  He opted to vanish instead.

  “What the fuck!” someone in the taco line shouted.

  Uh oh.

  She turned, slowly, to look. Most of the people in the line either hadn’t noticed or noticed and weren’t fazed. They were all doing the guy a “favor” and ignoring him.

  “Did you see that?”

  “See what?” Mikey asked.

  “That dude disappeared.”

  “Nah, man. You must be hungry. Get an extra taco or something.”

  “No, I could have sworn—”

  “Are you sure?”

  The man put a hand to his forehead and rubbed. “Maybe I am just hungry. Yeah. Just low blood sugar. He probably walked around the truck and I just didn’t see him.”

  “Yeah. That’s probably what happened.”

  December rubbed her temples and waited for her heart to crawl back into her chest. That stunt had been way reckless on Tamatsu’s part. He had to have known better, but perhaps he hadn’t been thinking. And if he wasn’t, that lady on the phone must have really had him shook.

  Tito left Cruz at the curb with tacos and Mikey, hooked his arm around December’s waist, and walked her a bit down the block. “The hell was that outburst?”

  “On the phone? Woman scorned, the best I could tell.”

  “Elf scorned, then. I don’t know much about them, honestly, and I sure as hell don’t know what he thought I could do to fix his problem.”

  Seemed apparent to December. Obviously, Tamatsu had some baggage that needed unpacking.

  Humming, she smoothed down the collars of his shirt and then smiled up at him.

  “No,” he said, skimming his lips across her forehead.

  “Aw, why not? He helped you?”

  “Yeah, specifically so I’d do him this favor.”

  “You c
an’t renege.”

  He groaned. “I know. Gotta help a homie out.”

  “I’ll help you.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Mm-hmm.”

  “You know, I’m off tonight.” He rocked his hips forward, hinting at something else he’d probably like to get off.

  “Behave.”

  “Nah.” He leaned in and whispered, “Six years, Dee. Got a lot of time to make up for. I want to touch you.”

  “Touch me in private,” she whispered back.

  “Right now?”

  “Tito!”

  Mikey strolled over, clearing his throat. “Not like I was watching or anything, but—”

  “Mikey,” December warned through clenched teeth.

  He put up his hands and backed slowly away. “I was just gonna say that I’d take Cruz back to Lola’s if you, you know, wanted to take a one-hour tour of the historical Downtown Maria Motel since it’s just down the block and stuff.”

  Tito looked down at December with one eyebrow cocked and his lips pulled up into a devastating smile.

  “I don’t trust that smile.”

  “Maybe an hour from now you’ll remember how much you love trouble.”

  “Your name should be trouble.”

  “’Cause you love me, too, right?” He gave her a gentle squeeze. “Tell me it’s not just the magic, Dee. Please.”

  Smiling, she rested her head on his shoulder and got him walking. After all, they only had an hour.

  “It’s not just the magic, Tito.”

  “You might have to keep reminding me for a while. That all right?”

  “Of course.” She hoped soon, he wouldn’t have to ask. He would just know.

  She’d show him.

  Acknowledgments

  The Demigod’s Legacy is my tenth story with Crimson that’s set in the world I created in A Demon in Waiting, but it’s the first I really panicked about prior to submission.

  Tito was, and is, a special character to me. He was a sort of “teddy bear” of a character in the Desert Guards series, and I wanted to make sure that when it was his turn to have a romance, the story would be respectful of his past and present cultures.

  I would like to thank Chell Morrow for having the possibly dubious honor of being the first to read the manuscript and for validating my treatment of the Southwest.